Untitled (4)
by stcrmpilot
Summary: For the prompt, "You woke up screaming..." (Mild self-harm warning)


**A/N:** If you wanna send more prompts off that list (or others) feel free!

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"Doctor?" An insistent knocking on the door of study redirects his attention from his racing thoughts, his pounding hearts and too-tight chest, and he staggers to his feet. He can't make it past his desk before the world tips violently around him, and he grabs onto the edge for support.

"C–" his voice breaks, and he sucks in a deep breath– "come in."

Immediately, the door slides open and Rose hurries in, eyes wide with alarm. She's in her pyjamas, her hair mussed up from sleep; it takes him a moment to process where, exactly, he is, and it's then that he realized he must've woken her up. She sweeps her gaze over his body, and he straightens up despite the spinning in his head, forcing a neutrally pleasant expression.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

He fights the urge to flinch at the note of fear he detects. "Course," he says. "Yeah, course. Just–" He gestures vaguely behind him. "Fell asleep working, is all." He sniffs. "You startled me."

She steps tentatively closer, wringing her hands together in front of her. "Are you sure? 'Cause, well…" She glances away, as if she feels she's intruding. ( _She's afraid,_ hisses a voice in the back of his mind.) "You were screaming. I thought…"

This wrenches at something deep inside his chest—he's overwhelmed by a surge of embarrassment and terror and the need to get out of this room _now_. He doesn't remember what he was dreaming about, but if it was bad enough to make him cry out, well, that would explain why he feels like he's suffocating. He shouldn't even be capable of suffocating. Every single cell in his body is screaming for space, fresh air and solitude, but he knows he can't leave. If he leaves, it means he isn't alright. So he bites down on the inside of his cheek, hard, and tries to force himself into a regular breathing pattern.

 _I'm in the TARDIS. I'm with Rose. I am_ not _back there, never again_. _It was a dream. I'm in the TARDIS…_

He wants to ask what he said, how much she heard, but he settles for a comforting smile. "Ah, 's nothing," he dismisses. "I'm fine."

Doubt flickers over her face, but she doesn't challenge him. She knows he's lying, of course—he's still breathing hard enough for even a human to hear clearly, and he's shaking all over, barely able to stand—she just doesn't know what to do about it.

"Okay, well…" She looks around. "I'll just go, then. I s'pose. If you're sure."

She steps backwards. That worried look hasn't left her eyes; she holds herself like a deer on the verge of bolting. She's gotten glimpses of this part ( _the damaged part_ ) of him before, of course, it's inevitable when they live in such close quarters, but this was too much for her. Who could blame her?

 _You can't even fall asleep at your desk without scaring her,_ taunts the voice. _Useless, worthless, broken disgrace of a Time Lord, you are. You'll be the death of her. You'll ruin her…_

Her gaze flicks downward, and her eyes widen. "Doctor–" She hurries closer before he can realize what she's doing, and takes his hands in hers, holding them out to examine. Something closes around his throat; there are scratches all over his hands, down his arms. Blood beads in the deeper ones. He hadn't even noticed.

Rose meets his gaze, horror evident in her expression, and suddenly there are tears welling in his eyes, hot and stinging. He looks up and away from her, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows against a sob. Silently, he begs her to leave—he doesn't want her to see him like this, doesn't want to know what she'd think—but he can't open his mouth for fear of breaking down.

She notices. Of course she does. She only hesitates a moment before making up her mind and pulling him into her arms, holding him tight and secure. He can't stop the tears from flowing as he rests his cheek on her shoulder, and she hugs him even closer when she realizes he's crying, his breaths hitching and his body shaking as he tries to stay silent.

"Doctor, how often does this happen?" she whispers.

A quiet whimper escapes his throat, and he clutches at the back of her shirt. "I d–" His voice breaks; something in his chest hurts so deeply he thinks it'll choke him. "I just w– want to sleep," he sobs. "Why c– why can't I, I–"

"It's okay," Rose says, comforting in the desperate sort of way that tells him she's lying. "It'll be alright, just… deep breaths, okay?"

The Doctor nods anyway, and complies. Neither speaks for a long moment.

"Come with me," she offers. "You can stay the night in my room, I'll keep you company."

He knows before she's finished that he can't accept. Shaking his head, he untangles himself and moves away, going back to lean against his desk as he roughly wipes his cheeks dry.

"No, I can't–" he sniffs– "I can't put you out like that."

Slowly, so as not to startle him, she walks over to him and places a hand on his shoulder. "It's not putting me out," she says. She peers up at him. "C'mon," she murmurs, giving him a little tongue-touched smile. "You've done the same for me."

The nerves from his dream are finally, blessedly fading. It's easier to breathe, and think, and exhaustion is setting in again. He can think of nothing more abhorrent than being alone. So he sniffles and nods, and she smiles wider, relieved. She rubs his arm comfortingly, and the contact makes his hearts ache.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I didn't know you… do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head. "It's nothing," he rasps. "Really."

She bites her lip, but holds her tongue and nods. Eventually, he supposes, he'll have to confide in her. It's hard not to. But right now the idea sends a stab of terror through his chest; he doesn't want to think about it.

"You want anything?" she asks. "Food, water? Tea?"

"No," he says. "It's fine."

"Okay." Leaning in, she presses a kiss to his cheek. He closes his eyes. "Let's go."

The Doctor nods, and she takes his hand, squeezing reassuringly. Her thumb rubs over the sharp ridge of his knuckles, and when he looks at her once more he sees something dangerously close to fondness in her gaze.

 _It won't last,_ he thinks sadly. It's only a matter of time before she gets tired of the nightmares. Before she realizes that he deserves them.

He goes with her anyway. A Time Lord can pretend.


End file.
